


Mercy

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Dark Past, Gritty, House Elves, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Other, Sad with a Happy Ending, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding World (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 19:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lucius Malfoy revisits one of his father's old haunts in order to replace the house elf which he had lost.
Kudos: 4





	Mercy

The coach came to a halt and a footman stepped off to open the door.

The two passengers who had disembarked exchanged a curt look before going their separate ways, having made the entirety of the two hour journey in silence, save for a few feeble attempts at small talk, mostly on the side of the retired solicitor who happened to be visiting his granddaughter before her wedding. The other, a tall figure with long blonde hair, dressed in dark robes, was on an errand which did not encourage him to be loquacious.

Lucius Malfoy continued the rest of the way on foot, hoping that the instructions he was given would suffice to lead him to the appointed spot. After walking for several miles, at first through what was a rather picturesque village of sandstone and thatch-roofed houses, then, along dirt paths between rolling hills dotted with sheep, until at last he reached a crossroad, a spot from which a derelict but imposing old manor house could be seen from afar. By then it was nearly sunset and his feet were sore from many an uphill climb. Still, he was obliged to wait for another hour or so in mounting impatience.

The sky had grown dark, a scarlet glow outlining the horizon, and Lucius had the discomfort of being a curiosity to the eyes of passing farmers leading their beasts and carts full of hay hither and thither at intervals, until, as the light faded, the crossroads grew to be a solitary deserted place, for many a superstitious tale was known throughout the village that the place was to be avoided after certain hours. Strange incoherent accounts were exchanged at the hearthside, varied and fantastical, passed on from generation to generation. All who doubted would be answered with the thought that all myths and fables had a basis in something.

Another hour passed. Then, at last, what looked like a floating lantern made its way towards the wizard, bobbing along, swinging backwards and forwards. Breathing a spell, Lucius was able to see that it was no levitating lantern, but a goblin, swathed in a dirty coat of black sable. The wizard followed after the diminutive creature, both taking it as a matter of course that the other knew what business was at hand. 

By overgrown woodland paths, they clambered over roots and watched as branches parted for them in places that could not have been managed save for by the use of an axe at the sound of the panpipes which the goblin played upon. It was a cheerful little tune, yet it floated eerily between the ancient trees. Lucius could barely see a foot in front of him by the dim lantern light, the darkness having fallen thickly about him and his guide, yet he knew that further illumination would not be welcomed in those parts, where many a silver eye glistened vigilantly. At times he felt something breathing close to him, nearly touching his neck or his ear – one of these sightless beings which sought to memorize the scent of all who passed through their territory.

Eventually they arrived at an isolated hut amid a clearing surrounded by overgrown bushes and a moss-covered well. The goblin approached its door and gave it a heavy knock with his fist. The heavy thing swung open upon creaky hinges and an old crone grinned and bowed them in with a toothless smile. Lucius smirked, thinking how well suited the creature was to such a place, being almost – picturesque.

They saw a primitively furnished chamber where a cauldron stood before a flaming fireplace. With some struggle, the hag pushed and shoved to clear her noxious brew from the hearth, nearly tipping it over in the process. At last, the goblin was able to escort his guest through the flames, which turned a shade of blue as both Mr.Malfoy and himself passed through them.

On the other side, they found themselves in a narrow cobblestone alleyway. The ground was wet as if it had rained recently, and Lucius concluded that they must be somewhere significantly far from the village and the crone’s hut. Indeed, a part of him wondered at the amount of secrecy these people took for what he felt as an innocuous enough crime. Certainly, such a thing was common enough amongst the most respectable of families in the time of his father. Nevertheless, he said nothing of his thoughts, continuing after the goblin, who turned his head from time to time to make sure that he had not lost the man he had been sent after.

It must have been past midnight when they finally reached their destination: an unassuming townhouse, one amongst a row of a dozen or so near-copies.

Again, the goblin knocked with his little fist.

This time, a thick-set man in a pinstriped vest and long-tailed coat opened the door. He had something of a theatrical air about him, like a carnival director or a dandy past his prime. A slightly faded carnation was pinned onto his coat and three signet rings flashed upon his thick fingers – depicting a unicorn, a hippogriff, and a sphinx. Lucius took in the sight of him as he was offered a glass of brandy, which he kindly declined.

Walking down a set of stairs, he observed fresh bloodstains of two hands had been pressed against the wall, each with four long fingers, all the same, he contrived to smile nonchalantly as the portly man chattered above him in a booming voice, laughing gregariously over the sound of shouting, growling, and cheering from the chamber below.

The door opened upon a vast hall, at the center of which was a wooden platform surrounded by witches and wizards of mixed classes. All eyes were fixed upon the arena, such that their entrance was hardly noticed. The proprietor pushed aside those that stood in their way, with all possible politeness, leading Lucius to a pair of sumptuous chairs which had seen better days, chasing away a young urchin holding a tray of peanuts in paper sacks, nibbling upon some of his wares in between shouts of support for the wolfish beast upon the stage.

“You little devil,” the man ruffled the boy’s hair with menacing playfulness as he gave a sudden yelp and quickly scampered into the crowd which engulfed him like a sea of sardines.

Gathering his cloak about him and sitting down, Lucius turned his attention fully to the arena. There he saw what looked like some manner of canine bristling with porcupine needles. Its long tail lashed about, its very tip ending in a sharp cluster of large bone-like quills. Then, his eyes wandered to the opponent, a being of much smaller stature, compared with the two meter height of its rival. It was a house elf, armed with what looked like a wooden plank with a nail driven into it. It made the most of it as a makeshift shield, which unsurprisingly was smashed to smithereens after a couple of blows. Mainly, the elf had to rely upon its speed and agility to dodge attacks, having little hope of landing any save for a few dangerous attempts at scratching the beast’s nose with its nails, broken and dirty, like everything else about it.

Lucius had to admit to himself that he felt little pleasure in this pastime, which his father was so enamored with. From somewhere behind him he could hear the voices of two men placing bets, although he who bet upon the beast had few takers – it being the obvious victor. Instead, most gambled upon how many more minutes they thought the house elf would live.

In his mind, Lucius too was making such estimates, with equal if not greater stakes. He resolved to wait until the creature was well beaten, near death, yet not so near that he was beyond hope. It was not that he minded paying the price of a house elf in full health, only it felt rather good to get more than one pays for – a bargain, if you will. Moreover, he had another motive of a non-pecuniary nature which was foremost in his conscience. The reason that he had been brought to the site of the unseemly spectacle was the need to find a replacement for Dobby.

After much reflection, he ultimately attributed this loss to a lack of binding loyalty -- the tie which had kept the house elf in service was a magical one, rather than something based upon sincere devotion. Indeed, the fool had gone so far as to thwart him, humiliate him – in part causing the loss of his appointment upon the Board of Governors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His blood boiled when he thought of the treachery worked upon him by the most snivelling and pathetic of creatures. Never again would he allow himself to he thus compromised, and, after much deliberation, he arrived at a conclusion few men of an arrogant and domineering nature arrive at before they reach the helplessness of decrepit old age. Mainly, that there is only so much that could be worked at through cruelty and intimidation, by such means, the subjugated party will always be reaching for some hope of escape, for hope is a troublesome thing, difficult to extinguish even in the most dire of situations. True loyalty must come from something akin to love, if not love then respect, if not respect, then – gratitude.

Suddenly, a bell was rung, once, twice – the volume of the crowds soared higher still in a deafening roar. As in the times of the Roman gladiators, the audience gestured with their thumbs as to whether the fallen house elf should be executed straight away or allowed to bleed to death. The final decision was given to the guest of honor, the swarthy man ingratiatingly announced. All turned to look at the chair beside him, which, to all appearances stood empty. Lucius had made himself invisible as he forced his way past the motley crowd, which parted like the sea, uttering curses as bewildered men and women found themselves pushed aside by an unseen pressure, which seemed to be winding to the arena.

Amid the commotion, the heaving canine walked in circles around the house elf, who lay prone in a pool of blood, breathing heavily as he struggled against the searing pain. Every limb flooded him with searing agony, for the touch of the quills left a poisonous sensation as that of nettles against his bare flesh. In his pounding ears, he heard footsteps upon the planks of the platform, those of a man. He thought it was the game keeper, yet by the hostile reaction of his foe he knew that it was not. The great beast snarled, bloody globules of drool dripping from its maw of fangs – then, it leapt, extending its claws for the kill. The house elf used his remaining strength to force his eyes open, lifting his head to see what it was – only he saw nothing.

Then – a flash of green light.

The wolf-like creature lay limp and motionless upon the floor of the arena as while a hush fell over the crowd in the stands, followed by shocked murmuring, growing louder and louder until the confusion was centered upon the equally dumbfounded figure of the man with the three rings. He knew who it was that had killed his prize specimen, only he knew not what motive had compelled him, debating in his mind whether to confront Mr.Malfoy or feign indulgence, lest he should offend the son of his best patron of bygone days.

After the crowd had dispersed, all talking avidly about the sudden and inexplicable death of the champion, the owner of the establishment was able to return to his office, having searched in vain for Lucius Malfoy. Looking none too pleased, he spotted an envelope upon his desk.

He picked it up and ripped it open in rough impatience, his eyes scanning over the ink which had just barely dried.

_Regrettably, an urgent matter called me to depart early from tonight’s entertainments._

_A bit of mystery is good for business, would you not agree? _

_The beast shall revive by noon on the morrow, in the fullness of health._

_ I send my apologies and the cheque enclosed, in honor an old friend._

_P.S I hope that you do not object to me keeping what is left of the elf – my hounds are rather fond of elf-flesh. _

“That will do,” muttered the man, folding the cheque neatly into his dragon-skin pocketbook and slumping into his chair, one hand rummaging about the desk for a stray pack of cigarettes.

...

A pair of large half-closed blue eyes looked up at the wizard who was walking in hurried strides trying to navigate the unfamiliar alleyways. He was carrying in his arms the bloodied house elf which he had taken from the arena, wrapped in a piece of discarded sackcloth which was already soaked through. Fearing that the creature would not survive much longer, Lucius paused as he passed a deserted courtyard and set the emaciated figure down upon the wet stones. He began to whisper incantations over the feeble creature. All the while, the house elf never took its eyes off of him, listening to the strange soothing words, which were like a lullaby to its soul as it felt some of the pain recede.

“Thank you, thank you Master,” it spoke the words of binding, words as faint as its breathing. A thin hand reached out towards Lucius in tearful affection. It was like a hideous infant, swaddled in the dirty bloody cloth, reminding the wizard of a beggar woman who had left her child on a rubbish heap amid the corpses of other victims of a horrible plague. He wondered where the hideous image had come from, not from memory, until he traced it to a forgotten penny novel he had idly picked up from Draco’s nightstand. It was strange that the creature should remind him of such Muggle grotesques, only he could not help what it stirred in him, a disconcerting sickly sort of feeling, as if he too had fallen amongst the wretches of the earth. The powerless and the wicked, those who could not be saved from themselves.

In the foggy lamplight he leant over the house elf, caressing its bald macerated head while one of the creature's hands wrapped around his other arm. Then, with considerable effort, it lifted itself slightly, enough to kiss Lucius’s fingers. Lucius continued to speak the healing spell, rain beginning to fall upon his already wet cloak. He could see scarlet puddles form as the blood was washed from the small form which lay in his lap. The house elf seemed to be saying something but he could not make out the words, unsteadily it tried to rise to its feet, then fell again upon its knees, rising and bowing, rising and bowing -- its hands clasped together as if it were praying or begging -- entranced in an idolatrous revelry.

“Your mercifulness, your mercy, your mercy,” it repeated in a somnambulistic chant, until, growing dizzy from its efforts and the blood loss, it sunk into a heap in front of Lucius, gazing at him with its ponderous eyes with what could only be described as love, the love of a desperate misguided creature that knew little but the bars of its cage and the screams of the bloodthirsty. 

It did not see the coldness, the discomfort, in the severe gaze which focused upon it, it heard only the words, and felt their meaning.

He was to live, live to serve its savior – for eternity.

Lucius picked it up, taking it beneath his heavy coat, such that its head knelt against his collarbone. He could feel the cold body shivering as it pressed against him, causing strange convulsions in his stomach.

The wizard continued along the alleyway, searching for somewhere that he might spend the night, feeling tired to the point of dizziness. He felt as if he had carried off some stray wet dog, feeling both embarrassed and somewhat touched by his own compassion as other late night wanderers made passing glances at him, more than likely thinking of him less than he imagined that they did. It was a feeling that had crept up on him, without his full knowledge, until it was something he had no choice but to accept -- a disarming affection.


End file.
